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~ All Poetry © Dennis N. O'Brien, 2010 – 2019

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Monthly Archives: November 2019

Bankers for Wankers

28 Thursday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Satire, Sonnet

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Tags

Australian poet, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Westpac Paedophile Scandal

Bankers for Wankers

So paedophiles are buying porn, it seems,
From overseas, and paying through the banks.
So banks are now assembling their teams
To thwart the paedophiles — they’ll get no thanks.
The journalists and all the other wanks
Are busy stirring shit — they’ve not a clue
How any of this works — banks’ share price tanks,
While bankers are up to their necks in poo.
They hole-up in their broken banks and stew.
Meanwhile bank shareholders look on dismayed —
What in the world are they supposed to do?
They know the dividends that they’ll be paid
Will dive, and not a soul will give a shit.
They pray that boards, en masse, will up and quit.

— D.N. O’Brien

Westpac Paedophile Scandal

Clive

27 Wednesday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Observation

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Tags

Australian poet, Clive James, Clive James dies, poem, poetry, Rhyming couplets

𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞

So rest in peace, and we will miss you Clive;
For few like you, nowadays, are left alive.

— D.N. O’Brien

Banking on Votes

26 Tuesday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Satire

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Tags

Australian poet, Bank bashing, Cynical Politicians, Josh Frydenberg Australian Treasurer, poem, poetry, Scott Morrison Australian Prime Minister, Triolet, Westpac Bank, Westpac Bank paedophile scandal

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐕𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

Westpac’s back is bared, and red with blood,
And Morrison is smiling with each lash.
The board is dumb, the CEO’s a dud.
Westpac’s back is bared, and red with blood.
Josh Frydenberg is chewing on his cud —
His treasury could do with Westpac cash.
Westpac’s back is bared, and red with blood,
And Morrison is smiling with each lash.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲

24 Sunday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Historical, Observation, Sonnet

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Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Grandmother, Granny, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲

“Old Granny”, so they call the ancient soul —
That little woman sitting by the door.
She’s worn — for her long life she’s paid a toll.
Apparently her family was poor.
She had a dozen kids or maybe more —
At least six daughters and six strapping sons.
Two of her boys she lost in the Great War.
They all were good with horses and with guns;
Were raised on western stations — massive runs.
Her husband was a hard man — so it’s said.
Was typical of those Australians
Who were around back then — now most are dead.
And Granny will soon join them I would say —
She’s just a relic of another day.

— D.N. O’Brien

Impersonating an Egyptian

19 Tuesday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Satire, Sonnet

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Australian poet, British Gypsies, British Justice, Capital Crimes in old England, Egyptians (Gypsies), Gypsies, Gypsy, Impersonating an Egyptian, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Travellers

Impersonating an Egyptian

“Impersonating an Egyptian is
The charge m’lord — a capital offence.
You’ll notice he has darkened up his phiz,
Wears earrings, gypsy clothes — it’s all pretence.
Found in his pocket was a bright sixpence
For which he can’t account — stolen I’d say.
It’s rumoured that he steals — makes perfect sense.
When he’s accused of this he answers: ‘Nay!’
(He clearly thinks confessing doesn’t pay).
He’s fake! It seems a tinker is his trade.
He looks Egyptian in most every way.
He travels in a caravan — he’s paid
For fixing pots and pans……could I be wrong….?”
“Of course not!” cries the judge, “Your case is strong!”

— D.N. O’Brien

{Impersonating an Egyptian (gypsy) could get you hanged in old England}

Barren Ground

18 Monday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Satire

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, satire, Trans women, Venus

Barren Ground

Your gorgeous new wife has a penis?
We’d best keep this secret between us.
My friend, you’re naive.
No way she’ll conceive.
You’ve wed a pretender, not Venus.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Rescue of baby Mary Jane Meehan

17 Sunday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Bush Poetry, Historical

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Australian Aboriginals, Australian Outback, Australian pioneers, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, cattle and sheep stations, Formal poetry, Helen Montgomery, Mary Jane Meehan, Moree New South Wales, poem, poetry, Rosewood Mungindi

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐧

On the 16th of December 1886 in the “Big Leather Watercourse” area of the Gwydir River, west of Moree in New South Wales, a woman, Mary Jane Meehan (nee Heydon), died soon after giving birth to a baby girl. It appears that she and her 3 year old son Edward were living in the bush, no doubt in a makeshift dwelling, while her husband, Timothy Edward Meehan, was away working, probably droving. Tragically, Mary Jane’s mother, Mary Jane Heydon (born in Whittingham, Hunter River, NSW in 1849) had died giving birth to her.

It was summer, but the children were apparently found by local aboriginals and presumably looked after by them until they were found by Helen Montgomery, a grazier’s wife, and taken to their property “Rosewood” near Mungindi. The child was later christened Mary Jane. It’s not known how long the children were in the care of the Montgomerys, or when they were reunited with their father, but when Mary Jane married Queensland drover Frank Epstead Green in Moree in 1904, she gave her residence as “Rosewood, Mungindi”.

Mary Jane and Frank Epstead Green went on to have 16 children. The family lived on properties throughout western Queensland but spent later years at Tulga station and other locations near Longreach. Both died in Darra, Brisbane — Frank in 1957 and Mary Jane in 1975.

Mary Jane was the Grandmother of my wife Helen O’Brien (nee Green).

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞

Here’s a story I’ll tell of Australia’s outback:
Out west of Moree there’s a tumbled down shack
Where died a young woman a long time ago —
Some still talk about it, the few left who know.
And though details vary, most of them agree
She was heavy with child; had a young boy of three.
Her husband away, just the odd friendly black
Would sometimes pass by on a lonely bush track.
One day, as it happened, a new baby cried,
And a little boy clung to the mother who’d died.
She’d told little Edward, whilst words she could give,
That the blacks he must find, for the baby must live.
And the little boy found them and quickly they came
And rescued the baby, and her mother’s name,
With that she was christened. A story of pain,
Of death, and the rescue of babe Mary Jane.

{𝘐𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘑𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘑𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥,
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘖’𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯}

— D.N. O’Brien

The Rescuer

The natives saved them, she then took them in —
The newborn baby and her little brother.
She cared for them, though they were not her kin,
But helpless little waifs who’d lost their mother.
The girl when she grew up and then was married,
Put “Rosewood, Mungindi” as whence she came;
For in her heart those memories she carried —
Her gratitude burned like an endless flame.
Now as she said her vows the rescuer —
The one who’d acted selflessly that day,
Though there in spirit, could not smile for her;
Five years had passed since she had passed away.

{In honour of Mrs. Helen Montgomery, “Rosewood” Mungindi, died 1899,
RIP}

— D.N. O’Brien

Incorrigible

12 Tuesday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Bush Poetry, Historical, Sonnet

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Tags

Australian convicts, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, Cat of nine tails, Formal poetry, Incorrigible convicts, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Van Diemen's Land

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞

He heads for hell beneath the surging sails;
One soul of tens of thousands bound in ships
East-driven by the roaring forties gales.
His gruel consumed, a brackish brew he sips —
Stares at the deck, and licks his leathered lips.
Sad hopeless thoughts beat in his beaten brain,
As with cold calloused hands his head he grips.
Perhaps he stole a pound of precious grain,
A handkerchief, a coin, a rich man’s cane.
Perhaps he is a villain through and through,
And so deserves this cruel unnatural pain,
Or maybe he is not — whichever’s true,
He’s landed on the wrong side of the law.
He’s branded by the cat for evermore.

— D.N. O’Brien

Sniffer Joe

11 Monday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Satire

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Tags

Australian poet, Joe Biden, Joe Biden sniffing hair, Nancy Pelosi, poem, poetry

Sniffer Joe

Now let’s at least try to be fair —
Sure Joe likes sniffing young girls’ hair,
Which could be thought of as perverse,
But sniffing Nancy would be worse.

— D.N. O’Brien

Ubiquitous

07 Thursday Nov 2019

Posted by Dennis N. O'Brien in Observation

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Tags

Australian poet, poem, poetry, Rhyming couplets, Slavery

Ubiquitous

If you could dig up all your forebears’ graves,
It’s likely you would find the bones of slaves.

— D.N. O’Brien

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